see me
by wewerethebestrichard
Summary: "The piano was so out of place in the cracked, bleeding GeoFront. It was pearls before swine, a treasure in a field." Shinji uncovers some of Kaworu's secrets. if you like hurt/comfort tropes this one's for you. warning for mentions of self-harm and suicide.


The piano was so out of place in the cracked, bleeding GeoFront. It was pearls before swine, a treasure in a field, Lazarus Rise Up and Walk out of this stone, this concrete, these groaning metal towers. And Kaworu was to humanity what a polished YAMAHA Grand was to a post-impact shithole like these blasted headquarters. Shinji sat by him on the bench. Their shoulders touched, their hands touched sometimes when they both thought of a middle C and lo, there was only one for them to share. Kaworu's easy grace did not just make room for Shinji - he acted as if he admired him, and Kaworu time and time again based his stream of glittering notes off of Shinji's bumbling chords.

One day, Kaworu taught Shinji scales. Da da da da _da_ da da da da while the leaves of the tree shook beside them, and everything was very tireless. If Shinji had been by himself, he would have been frustrated with his own clumsiness in short order, but with Kaworu he didn't even think about the time passing. In fact, Kaworu himself was unusually stiff and slow in the left wrist today, and it helped him keep stunted pace with Shinji's mistakes. It went da da da da _da_ da - "Sorry," - da da da da da da da _da_ da da da da da da da - "Sorry," - da _da_ da da da da da da da da _da_ da da da da up and down and the wind blew and boredom did not set in.

"We should stop now, Shinji Ikari."

The sun was halfway through its afternoon arc, catching on the black lacquered piano lid, sparkling dully. The still heat breathed through the courtyard.

"Oh, ah - alright." Shinji looked down, at Kaworu's hand resting on the keyboard.

"Is - is it because of your wrist, or?" He dared.

Kaworu looked down at his own hand with an air of vague surprise. "Yes."

"Is it - is it hurt? It - it seems kinda busted up. How …"

"I simply did not watch where I was going."

"Oh. I, uh, I didn't imagine you could get hurt! For some reason."

It made Shinji feel quite small and exposed to the sky, the idea that Kaworu could be hurt in the same way as any other person, in a meaningless accident, when Shinji himself wasn't around.

Kaworu fixed him with his obscure, benevolent gaze. "Life is full of pain, Shinji Ikari. I share that experience with all the Lilin."

"Ah, right… hey, I can … I think I have some medical supplies in my room. I could help you with it, if you wanted…"

"Help me?" Kaworu looked very thoughtful. "I would like that."

* * *

It was a long walk up to Shinji's room, through many mutilated rooms and musty hallways. Shinji had never walked beside Kaworu like this, only sat beside him, and sprawled beside him on the concrete to stargaze. Every morning that he came to play with Kaworu, he'd found the other boy in position at the keyboard or seated somewhere else in the music courtyard, no matter how early or late he wandered in. It was good to have this now. It was natural to have this walk together, this companionable silence found in any everyday relationship. And it was comforting. Shinji had been through too much in his short life to care about the menace of shadows or ghost towns: it was the loneliness that Kaworu banished, the loneliness that had been inherent in the sprawling kilometres of NERV's desolated base.

When they got to Shinji's room, Kaworu sat down on the bed and looked around at the stark walls with his usual benevolent and comprehending curiosity while Shinji rooted around in a small box he'd found under his bed a month or two ago.

"Here," he said, emerging with a roll of bandage and setting the first-aid kit on the bed.

"The red cross," Kaworu said absently. "How funny - the colour of so much blood and the symbol of so much death, but together they mean help. What a pleasing juxtaposition."

"That's ... yeah, I guess you're right." Shinji's mouth quirked in a little smile, and he took Kaworu's hand in his own and started wrapping the wrist. Kaworu was still gazing avidly at the little medical box, but his hand moved with Shinji's motions obligingly.

There was another contented silence.

Shinji turned over Kaworu's hand to tie off the bandage, and his breath caught.

He crumpled... crumpled into the crook of Kaworu's arm, cradling the wrist against his forehead with abject tenderness. Kaworu stared, unruffled and impassive as ever, as his trembling friend held his arm in paralyzed fingers and started to sob, breathily, haltingly.

"You yourself have a fair share of scars," he said, "I do not see why these merit any mourning."

Shinji's grip tightened, Kaworu's already white forearm grew whiter.

Kaworu brought up his other hand and laid it on Shinji's head.

Shinji stiffened, his whole system shuddering with shock and a primeval desire for Kaworu to keep his hand there, to keep his fingers in his hair, to make it okay, to say with the touch that he was _there._

Kaworu did more than that, he began to move his fingers in a way that reminded Shinji suddenly, distinctly, of his own mother, because he had not felt it since he had known her. Kaworu was stroking the top of Shinji's head. Quietly, back and forth, with oceanic reassurance.

"I - don't - have - scars," Shinji ground out eventually, "Not - like - these... oh, Nagisa, why'd you do it, why?"

Kaworu looked at Shinji. "I do think you understand. If I am not mistaken, there have been times when you have considered suicide very seriously, and knew the benefits such an action could bring."

"It's a coward's choice," Shinji spat, "A _coward's._ "

"A coward? Perhaps." Kaworu sounded genuinely fascinated, like a new scientific theory had been proposed to him. "Or perhaps it is the way of a mighty adventurer, one brave enough to seek complete freedom."

"Don't think like that," Shinji said, grabbing the front of Kaworu's shirt, "Don't say such complete crap. Don't do it again, Nagisa - oh - what made you _do_ it?"

"I perceived in my heart that my destiny was evil, and so I attempted the easiest route of escape. Failing that, I set my sights elsewhere and confronted the complexity of the future. Both paths were equally good, but I am glad I could not terminate myself, for now I am with you, Shinji Ikari."

Shinji took a shaky breath.

"I see how much grief I have caused you," Kaworu said, a subtle note of mourning in his voice. "That was not my intention."

He raised his wrists and looked at them curiously, at the ruler-straight slashes of white that indicated the long-past, bone-deep bite of a knife.

"What is the opposite of fear, to you?" He said.

Shinji raised his head. "I... surety, I suppose."

"You wish to learn and to find that the truth is comforting," Kaworu said, standing up and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Very well. To undo the anguish I have caused you, I will answer any question you may ask of me."

* * *

They were at the piano again.

Kaworu sat on the bench, long legs bent gracefully underneath, looking at Shinji with quiet expectation.

"I cannot answer if you do not ask," he said. He was smiling now. Shinji looked down at him uncertainly.

"A - any question I have for you?"

"And I will answer."

"I... uh..."

The wind breathed through the courtyard. There was a bird, somewhere far up and away, there were insects rustling in the marauding vegetation.

"Uh..." He hardly dared. But Kaworu never found anything odd. Kaworu was oddness itself, could not very well be offended or confused. Shinji scuffed a shoe against the ground. It was the one question in his mind at the moment and whenever he tried to think it away, it reappeared, larger than before... "What... do you think of me?"

Kaworu didn't even glance at Shinji. He blinked down at the keys, surveying them, and then closed his eyes. He touched his fingers to the keyboard, it sang.

The piano almost groaned with the tune.

There were so many high notes, splattered jerkily over the ache of the base melody, the clatter of the lower keys, the throb of the strings. Shinji did not want to listen to it, he turned his face away, he could hear it in his chest. It sounded like something his own walkman might play, if the cassette in it ran out and the white noise had a voice. It was the very silence he ran away from, echoing out from the open lid of the piano, full of the very hope that tortured him, full of promises that were terrifying because he hoped for their fulfillment too intensely. It was a music of distilled hope, the hopes Shinji had numbed himself to because they were everlastingly unanswered.

It went on for a very long time. It was a lifetime, Kaworu's lifetime.

It went on...

It slowed.

The birds sang again.

"Well. Is there another question I can try and help you with?" Kaworu's face was turned to Shinji's, full of ignorant honesty.

Shinji shook his head wildly. "Who _are_ you?"

Kaworu smiled.

"That answer requires a duet," he said, and shifted on the bench to welcome Shinji.


End file.
